“i want to wear shorts because it’s hot but i really hate my legs” an autobiography
“I want to wear shorts but i didnt shave” the sequel.
“I want to wear shorts but I don’t tan and I’d rather not blind you” The trilogy
“I want to wear shorts but my huge dick always sticks out” a pop-up book
a pop up book
for a salvation that will not come from the grey-eyed boy looking for an annotated copy of Shakespeare,
for an end to your sadness in Keats.
He coughed up his lungs at 25, and flowery words cannot conceal a life barely lived.
Your life is fragile, just beginning, teetering on the violent edge of the world.
Your sadness will bury you alive, and you are the only one who can shovel your way out with hardened hands and ragged fingernails, bleeding your despair into the unforgiving earth.
Darling, you see, no heroes are coming for you. Grab your sword, and don your own armor.